


In Sickness and In Health

by bailey23



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bailey23/pseuds/bailey23
Summary: “Kevin retches for the third time that night, body crumpled on the cold bathroom floor.”





	In Sickness and In Health

Kevin retches for the third time that night, body crumpled on the cold bathroom floor. He had been feeling unwell since the afternoon and has apparently gotten worse. Raymond was working a late night at the precinct, and Kevin had not wanted to inconvenience him. It now seems inevitable, and Kevin knows Holt would not appreciate coming home late to an ill husband. Kevin clutches the phone is his hands and calls Holt once, twice. The dial tone rings and no one answers.

Kevin hates throwing up, the bitter, sour taste of bile and stomach acid burning the back of his throat. Kevin absolutely hates it, but does not even think about anything else other than regulating the inhale-exhale of his breath, hoping that it would still the churning in his stomach. It does not work, and Kevin heaves again.

As the night deepens, Kevin’s vision spots and flares, making opening his eyes painful. He wants to turn the bathroom lights off, but cannot muster up the energy to stand; moreover, he feels as thought he might pass out at any moment, and does not want to hit his head. A distant part in of his brain supplies a statistic: more than 80% of bathroom related deaths are concussions from slipping and falling. The bathroom floor is cold and Kevin starts to shiver, hurting his head more. At some point he thought he heard Cheddar whining in some far off place, although he must only be downstairs. Cheddar must be wanting his dinner, he thinks faintly, before his head throbs and he thinks about nothing at all.

Raymond enters the house a little after midnight. He is surprised to find the ground floor fully lit yet absent of activity—Kevin never wastes electricity in such a careless manner. Kevin usually welcomes him home at the door but it was late and Raymond thought with some fondness that he must have fallen asleep. Holt’s phone had been dead for a while and he had not bothered to charge it in his rush to finish his paperwork.

Cheddar runs up to him and barks, nipping at his ankles even after Raymond gives him a customary rub on the belly. Raymond kneels to properly scratch Cheddar’s head.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Cheddar yips pitifully. Sighing, Raymond retrieves a milk bone and tosses it to Cheddar. “Don’t you let Kevin know about this, understand?”

Much to his surprise, Cheddar barely sniffs at the treat. He circles Raymond’s feet insistently and looks up at him, whining softly.

“Be quiet, Cheddar. You’ll disturb Kevin.” Raymond’s stern reprimand silences Cheddar, who sniffs at the milk bone again before plopping his head sadly on the lowest staircase. Raymond tuts and gingerly steps past Cheddar, heading upstairs.

Heading upstairs, Raymond enters his bedroom and finds it empty. His hackles rise and his brow crinkles in confusion.

Light is streaming into the dark bedroom from the bathroom, whose door is cracked open. Raymond sees a hand peeking from the floor, and steps towards the door, his mind a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts.

He nudges the bathroom door wider open, and sees Kevin slumped over the ground, body still and eyes shut. Raymond’s heart leaps to his throat. Dropping to his knees, he props Kevin’s head up against his body and shakes it, trying to be gentle but failing, the tremble in his hands revealing the fear coursing through his veins. Kevin moans and shifts in Holt’s lap. Violent relief fills Holt, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“Kevin! What happened? What’s wrong? Talk to me, Kevin!”

Kevin moans indistinctly again, pressing his face against the corduroy of Holt’s pressed trousers. Holt thinks he could make out his own name, and his heart clenches. Holt’s police training clicks into place and he presses two fingers against Kevin’s neck, shocked at how hot Kevin’s skin was but relieved to find a regular pulse thrumming under his fingers. Holt reaches for Kevin’s phone and dials for an ambulance, before scooping him up into his arms and laying him down onto their bed.

Kevin stirs. “Ray? Cold.”

“Kevin? We are going to the hospital. It is going to be alright.” Raymond is unsure how much Kevin understands, but retrieves a warm coat which he wraps gently around Kevin’s slender shoulders. Kevin’s face was pale and his lips were chapped. Raymond wets a towel and presses it onto Kevin’s burning forehead, cupping his palm to Kevin’s cheeks as Kevin leans away from the cold press.

It took approximately 13 minutes for the paramedics to arrive—Raymond counted all 13 of them. They assessed the situation before loading Kevin unceremoniously onto the ambulance, barely glancing at a still uniform clad Holt. Kevin is delirious and scared, shivering in the cold air of the night, squinting against the bright light within the ambulance, and flinching against the sirens, which hurt his head. Confused tears begin leaking from Kevin’s eyes and Raymond does not let go of his hand.

The doctor makes quick work of Kevin. He is diagnosed with a nasty gut infection that leaves him feverish, nauseated and dehydrated. Raymond does not relax, even when he is told a quick dose of antibiotics will have Kevin good as new. He remains by his bedside, watching the nurses come and go with a critical eye, murmuring updates to Kevin as they pull and tug on his body, inserting an IV—“antibiotics and saline”, a nurse explains, “for the dehydration. And a depressant, so he can sleep. It will be some time before he wakes up, my dear. Why not go for a coffee?” Raymond declines.

Some time into the night the buzz of medical personnel subsides and Raymond is left sitting by Kevin’s bedside. He could not recall Kevin ever being as sick as he is now—Kevin has had minor colds, tonsillitis, and once, sprained his wrist, but was always awake to make a clever quip. Raymond hates seeing his husband like this, the paleness of Kevin’s cheeks stark under the fluorescent hospital lights, a far cry from their usual rosy blush.

Raymond does not recall plugging his phone in to charge, and the jingle as it comes to life startles him. 2 missed calls from Dr Kevin Cozner, PhD, 9.45pm. His heart clenches. How long was Kevin shivering on that bathroom floor, waiting for his husband to come home? Raymond’s fingernails dig into his own palms. He does not sleep that night.

Kevin’s eyes crack open at approximately 11.32am to Raymond having an argument on the phone.

“I don’t care what the commissioner says. I’m not coming in and—“

A pause, as Holt clenches and unclenches his fists.

“Well, the year end report will just have to wait. I am taking the next week off. That’s not up for debate.”

The bed creaks and Raymond spins around, eyes widening as he notices Kevin watching him, very much awake.

“Kevin. You’re awake.”

Kevin tries to speak and winces at his dry throat. Holt quickly pours him a glass of water and watches as Kevin sips it slowly. Kevin licks his pale lips once, twice, before trying to speak.

“Raymond. What happened?”

Holt gives Kevin a quick update of the situation and ignores the growing ball of guilt within his gut, propping the bed up and fluffing pillows to put behind Kevin’s back. Kevin nods blasèly and looks vaguely relieved at the diagnosis.

Kevin sips from the glass and gives Holt a critical look. His eyebrow arches and he and states with concern: “your uniform is creased. And you look exhausted, darling. Are you leaving for work?”

Holt shakes his head vehemently. “Of course I’m not. Not for another week. How can I just leave you here, Kevin?”

Kevin smiles slightly at Holt’s words and notes with worry the circles under his eyes, the heavy way in which he carries himself, the permanent crease in his forehead. “I feel much better now, Raymond, and the hospital is full of people who can care for me. It’s not like last night.”

The words, meant to comfort Raymond, lanced guilt through his heart. “I am sorry, Kevin. I didn’t pick up the phone when you called, and it is my fault you are in this situation. My battery was dead and I was finishing up...there is no excuse. I am truly sorry, this is all my fault. I can’t imagine—“ Raymond chokes on his words and lapses into silence, head bowed in apology, knuckles white from clenching his fists.

Kevin straightens and reaches out to Holt, taking his hand, entwining his fingers firmly with his own. “Raymond, it is not your fault. I wish you had picked up, but it was my fault for not calling the precinct, or a hospital. I didn’t know how serious it was. You are the reason why I’m well right now, Raymond.”

Raymond refuses to meet his eyes. Reaching over, Kevin tilts his head up and looks gently into Raymond’s tortured gaze. He leans over and presses his lips to Raymond’s cheek, before bringing his hands up to cup Raymond’s face. “Thank you, my Raymond,” Kevin says, reverently. “I think that you saved me.”

Raymond hesitated for a moment before falling into Kevin’s embrace. In Kevin’s arms, face pressed against Kevin’s neck, Raymond feels the emotion from the entire ordeal all at once, and he is so, so relieved to have Kevin breathing in his arms, Kevin loving him in his arms, Kevin in his arms, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. Raymond breaks, sobbing heavy tears, hyperventilating and hiccuping as the fear, tension and guilt waxes and wanes within him. Kevin presses a kiss to Raymond’s temple, a reminder of unchanging affection, his hands rubbing circles into Raymond’s back. Raymond wonders, not for the first time, how he deserves someone as wonderful as Kevin, and his arms tighten around his husband.

The nurse returns much later to find Raymond seated in a chair beside the bed, slumped over his husband’s lap in the bed, fast asleep. Idly stroking the nape of his husband’s neck, Kevin blushes when the nurse whispers that he’d never left the bedside, that he had snarled at the doctors who handled Kevin a touch too roughly, and “don’t let him go, this one’s a good one.”

It is only an day more that Kevin is discharged and only a few days before the colour returns to Kevin’s cheeks.

A few days after the incident Raymond and Kevin are seated in bed, Kevin patiently thumbing through The New Yorker and Raymond fidgeting with a book.

“Raymond,” Kevin begins, putting aside the magazine, “perhaps it is time for you to return to work?”

Raymond’s hands still and he does not look up from his book. “Kevin, you are still unwell and I do not wish to leave you alone in your situation.”

Kevin sighs. “Raymond, you and I both know that the doctors discharged me for a reason. I am feeling much better and there is no need for you to stay with me. I am a grown man, for God’s sake. And you are clearly neglecting your work—I know how busy it gets around this time of year.”

Raymond puts the book aside and speaks simply, with complete sincerity. “Kevin, you are the love of my life and I choose you over my job, every time.”

Kevin’s gaze softens and he places a hand over Holt’s. “It shouldn’t be a choice, dear. Go back to work. I’ll be here waiting for you when you come back.”

Kevin was right. Holt returns at 8pm sharp to the smell of roasting chicken, a happy dog, and a smiling husband, and his world continues spinning.


End file.
